


wolfsbane bloom

by aquilaofarkham



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon), 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series, 悪魔城伝説 | Castlevania lll: Dracula's Curse
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Canon-Typical Violence, Comfort, Emotional, Fluffy Ending, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Post-Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2019-10-09 02:12:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17398061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquilaofarkham/pseuds/aquilaofarkham
Summary: Trevor is bitten by a werewolf; Alucard and Sypha offer their support while the night of his first full moon creeps up. Eventually, he discovers that vampires do in fact get along far better with lycans than he expected.





	1. Chapter 1

This will be easy, this will be quick. He’s done this sort of deed before. With every trudge forward, the heavy snow crutches beneath Trevor’s boots. He looks up through the trees; the creeping darkness of dusk turning into night makes them look more like the iron bars of a cage. The whip and sword hanging off either sides of his waist along with the crossbow across his back weigh him down. But he keeps moving – better to finish this now before the dead bodies start piling up.

Trevor blows into his hands, trying to warm them while taking a moment to exam his surroundings. Snowflakes descending from above gently blow onto his face and get caught on his eyelashes. Apart from the sound of his footsteps, the woods are silent. Dead, uncomfortable silence. He keeps an ear out for anything that might break it; a twig snapping under the weight of claws, the rustling of leaves against coarse fur, or the low growl of a creature that’s somewhere between human and animal.

Eyes glance towards the murky skies, settling on the bright full moon, before turning back down at the series of paw prints leading deeper into the forest. Far too big to belong to any normal wolf. It’s been a while since Trevor found himself on the trail of a lycanthrope. “Out of practice” is an apt descriptor regarding this recent endeavour. He’s not worried, though. His arrows are made from silver, his blade purified in wolfsbane, and the Morningstar still sings when he wields it. This _should_ go easily. This _should_ go quickly.

It’s not long before Trevor hears the very noise he’s been searching for. Readying the crossbow, he carefully spins around to face whatever is lurking in the bushes behind him. He takes aim and lets out a deep breath. The frigid air transforms it into a long huff of smoke. Trevor keeps both arms steady, his patience steadfast yet quickly running out. Until the foreign sound moves. First, he hears footsteps off to his side, then back behind, then to his other side. Circling him, over and over again. Stalking its prey.

The hunter keeps his feet planted to the ground, moving them only slightly, preparing himself for the right moment. The same noises continue, followed by that growl he needed to hear. Another breath and the footsteps stop. Trevor is granted a few short seconds before his own prey lunges forward. He rolls out of the way, kicking up clumps of snow. Raising his head, he looks directly into sickly yellow eyes belonging to a mass of dark fur, elongated limbs, and a snout full of teeth blackened with blood. It snarls, keeping its distance, biding its time, before making its second attack.

Trevor is much quicker. With the crossbow loaded, he takes his first shot. The short arrow drives itself into the beasts’ shoulder, barely an inconvenience. Then comes a second and third. Trevor reloads the weapon and takes aim just as fast as he dodges each vicious assault. Streams of blood and saliva drip from the lycan’s fangs. Those bits of silver have only made it angrier.

It doesn’t give Trevor a chance to reach for the Morningstar. It seizes the opportunity, wrenching the crossbow out of his hands and pins him against the deep snow, its jaws snapping at his face. Trevor tries holding it back, but only manages to slice open both palms. Teeth dig into his shoulder and neck. Trevor is thankful for the pain despite how much it burns. Instead of wearing him down, it motivates (or rather forces) him to grab his sword and burrow its tip between the creature’s ribs.

An agonized howl mixed with a whine echoes throughout the forest. Awkwardly yet with enough strength, Trevor’s blade pierces its neck, nearly getting caught amongst all the fur and flesh. Blood gurgles in the lycan’s throat, hacking it up in large globs. Last breaths before its heavy body collapses.

Trevor lies in the snow, blinded by snowflakes. Quick, yes, but far from easy. He sits up with a long groan and turns to his handiwork. The crossbow is in pieces, blood drenches the ground, and the beast is nowhere to be seen. In its place is a human body; naked, thin flaxen hair, and pale skin stretched to its limit over bones. They lay motionless, their life spilling out through their chest and neck.

The hunter doesn’t move, nor can he look away. It’s so rare for him to see a sight like this. There’s no sense of victory, but what should be felt then? Guilt? It had to be done. They were trapped. Whoever they were, he set them free. But what point is there in telling himself this? All Trevor can think of is a different reminder. The monsters he hunts, that his family hunted, must have been human. Even vampires were human before.

“Poor bastard.” He could give them a burial – not a proper one. Still, they deserve that much. But another sting crawls down Trevor’s arm. He places a hand against his torn-up shoulder; tender, wet, and burning. Tearing away the ripped fabric, his eyes widen at the wound left behind by the lycan’s teeth. All he can say is an exasperated, breathless “fuck…”

He’ll live. That’s what he’s terrified of.

 

* * *

 

Trevor walks back home, the pain in his shoulder reduced to a dull throb numbed by the cold air. He placed the body in a deep snowbank before retracing his steps. There it will freeze for the rest of the winter then thaw and decompose when spring comes. Or perhaps the wolves, foxes, and bears will find it; whichever happens first.

The only light guiding him is that of the full moon. Trevor sneers up at it. He knows the next one won’t be as beautiful or kind – unless he does something. He read his family’s bestiary as though it were a children’s bedtime story. He’s well aware of all the legends even those that contradict each other. The lycan travels on its hind legs, they are agents of the Devil, so on and so forth.

One thing remains constant: kill the beast before it leaves its bite, and the curse will be broken. A harsh realization just as Trevor approaches home. He marches up to the front door of the Belmont manor, still half rebuilt and looking more akin to a large cottage than the grand building it once was. Strangely enough, he prefers this home to the one he was born and raised in. A warm hue of candlelight shines through the windows while smoke gently rises out of a short chimney. The other occupants are awake and waiting for him.

This is what Trevor was dreading. They’ll ask questions the moment they see him. They’ll look at his torn shirt with dark red stains, the teeth marks upon his skin, and the panicked expression on his blood-drained face. They care so much and worry for him even more, which is why Trevor will try avoiding them. He walks into the warm house, shaking off the snow that clings to his hair and clothes.

As he takes his first steps down the hall, Trevor stops. He notices a set of two faint voices coming from the reading room. _Shit._ Almost forgot; he needs to go through there in order to reach his bedchamber. His hand covers the wound. _Be quick, keep your eyes down, and don’t draw attention to yourself._ Three pieces of advice he remembers from the years spent as a wanderer. He should never have to act this way around his friends, his family, but it is necessary.

Trevor darts into the room, keeping to the walls lined with shelves. The glances he makes at his companions, who sit comfortably with books in their hands, are brief. “There you are,” greets Sypha. Her light jovial attitude lessens when she receives no reply. “So… everything went well, then.”

“Fine.” Trevor should know by now that a single, dismissive word has never been enough to convince either of them.

“That’s it?” Alucard lowers his book. “No boasting, no trophies of your victory? It’s not like you at all.”

“I’m tired.”

“Trevor, your shoulder…”

“It’s nothing.”

“It should be tended to. Come on…”

Trevor gently shrugs off Sypha. “Really, it’s not worth the trouble.”

“You’ve always been a terrible liar.” Alucard may jest like he always does, but his tone sounds just as concerned as Sypha’s. Trevor’s face begins to sweat, he feels suffocated. He needs his room. It’s the only way he’ll be able to think clearly.

“I’m going to bed.”

“At least bandage that wound.”

“I’ll do it eventually.”

Sypha scoffs. “Always so stubborn-“

“Stop.” The response is far louder than Trevor wanted. Sypha and Alucard stare. His empty stomach heaves while the pit of his chest grows tighter, hurting him. “I appreciate the concern… but I really am tired.” He can’t even muster up a simple “goodnight” before rushing towards his room. Trevor shuts the door, his hand a death grip on the knob and sits on the edge of the bed. He doesn’t bother lighting a candle. Maybe the darkness will help focus his mind.

All options are weighed; none good, all bad, some even worse. Trevor returns to what he’s already accepted. Withdrawing a dagger he always keeps tucked in his boot, he checks the sharpness with his thumb. This is the only way. If he wants to spare others from the curse – if he wants Sypha and Alucard safe – it has to be.

The door creaks open, Sypha comes into view, and Trevor quickly hides the weapon. Even in the shadows, he can tell that her anxious expression has worsened. “You were bitten,” she says. There’s nothing for him to deny.

“Show me what’s behind your back.” Her tone is bold, direct, yet gentle and Trevor cannot ignore it (he never could to begin with). He reveals the dagger slowly, almost shamefully. The first emotion Sypha feels is anger; how could he do this? How could he come to such an abrupt conclusion concerning his life without first talking it through with either herself or Alucard? She hoped Trevor had grown past this sort of reckless thinking. Evidently, he may never.

Sypha feels Alucard’s presence close behind her. Anger subsides into empathy as they walk into the room. Perhaps there is reason as to why Trevor came to a hasty decision. He’s a Belmont after all, born and bred as a hunter, knowing exactly what a lycan’s bite will do to a man. Still, it’s a decision they refuse to accept.

“Trevor…”

“Sorry. I… I didn’t want you to worry. But I have to do this.”

“No, you do not.” Sypha sits beside Trevor while Alucard carefully checks his shoulder, wincing as delicate fingers prod at the wound.

“It’s not infected yet, but it is very swollen and still bleeding a little. Put some pressure on his shoulder, I won’t take long.” He says to Sypha. Before Alucard can leave to continue playing the role of doctor just as his mother did, Trevor speaks up.

“There’s no point. Stop troubling yourself.”

“Not another word out of you. I’ll be right back.” There’s that blunt, aggressive tone Trevor has heard many times before, especially when directed at himself. It’s only because Alucard cares; he’s grown to care deeper and harder than ever. The dhampir then snatches away the dagger at an unusually quick speed. “And I’m taking this with me.” Only because he cares.

Alucard leaves Trevor with Sypha. Every uneasy breath causes his body to tremble. Hands curl into fists, nails digging into palms, as he tries forming his anxious thoughts into words. He holds himself back from grabbing tuffs of hair and bashing his head against a nearby wall. For being so careless, so stupid. “You really don’t understand…”

“We do understand. That’s why we’re both going to help.”

“Sypha, listen.” Trevor finds the strength to look her in the eyes. “When I turn, I won’t be able to stop myself and people will die. You and Alucard, you’ll…”

Sypha can’t bear to hear him talk of death and dying any longer. _Enough_ , she thinks. “No one is going to die. Not you or anyone else. All three of us have seen enough death to last us lifetimes. We will help you through this.”

Trevor’s energy is spent. There’s not much he can do except trust her words – weakly. Alucard returns with his arms full of medicinal supplies: a basin full of water, a cup of ointment made from honey and frankincense, gauze strips, and a needle with some thread. He works swiftly, diligently. Cleaning the wound, smothering it then sewing everything up. Trevor winces until the last bandage is tied. All he can think about is pain, that of tonight and that which will follow in the near future. Sypha squeezes his hand as Alucard rubs his hunched back.

Their simple actions ease the pain. Trevor hopes it will last for as long as it can.

 

* * *

 

There is much that can be done in a month’s time, yet not enough. Sypha immerses herself within books of the lycan mythos, some of which are older than the Belmont lineage itself. She reads of Dacian wolf cults, the cursed wolf king Vereticus, and poor children, seventh of their family, doomed to become beasts. How to track and kill, not help. Not save. But Sypha has many other books to tear through. If there are any alternatives, anything to suggest that Trevor might be spared his fate, she will find it. Alucard does the same and uses the notebooks left behind by Lisa, searching for a way to ease the eventual transition. Better yet, a way to stop it entirely.

It gets harder for Trevor with each passing hour. He tries, god knows he does. Carrying on with his hunts and errands, treating the days as though they were ordinary, postponing the inevitable. Distractions to keep himself at least half sane. But then there are the nightmares, common occurrences for a Belmont. Not these, however. Not the ones where Trevor chokes on blood and flesh or when his skin tears as easily as the thinnest parchment. He wakes up every morning, his stomach clenched and the taste of bile in his mouth. The closer the full moon approaches, the worse they become. Trevor can’t go about the days as normal.

Just as the last rays of sunlight shine through the stained-glass windows of the manor, Alucard finds Trevor in his bedroom. He sees him lying on his side, back turned, and the dhampir wonders how long he’s been like this. “No luck again?” The hunter asks before Alucard can announce himself.

“… Sypha and I made a tonic that will help with the pain when you transform.”

“But won’t stop it.” One pause is the only answer Trevor needs. “You shouldn’t put yourself through this much work for me.”

“Yet we do.” Alucard joins him on the bed. “And despite what you might think, we do it willingly.”

Trevor remains in his half fetal position, eyelids heavy. If that statement was meant to brighten his mood, it hasn’t. Alucard and Sypha have done so much for him. Enough that he feels he will never be able to repay them in full. Despite his honest attempts, he’s become a burden this past month and it will only get worse.

He finally sits up, his hair a bedridden mess. Alucard receives the first real glimpse at his bloodshot eyes, unchecked stubble, and cheeks devoid of blush and colour. Trevor turns to him, saying without words, “I know I look like shit”.

“When was the last time you slept?”

“It comes and goes.”

“For how long?”

“… an hour. If I’m lucky.”

“Are you afraid to sleep?”

“Does it seem like I’m afraid?” But Trevor already has the answer. “You’re right… you’re absolutely right as always. I’m so fucking scared. I can’t sleep because I’m scared of what I’ll see, scared of what I’ll feel, I’m scared of what’s going to happen in the next few days… I’ve never felt this much fear in my entire life. I feel sick and weak and…”

Alucard pulls the hunter in close, wrapping his arms around his broad back. “You know…” Trevor pushes his cheek against the dhampir’s shoulder. His sobs are quiet, repressed, which is just like him. “Contrary to what most people believe, vampires and lycans get along very well.”

“… is it because you both turn into wolves?” Trevor asks, his voice muffled.

“The similarities certainly help. But it’s more a matter of solidarity between creatures of the night.”

“So what you’re saying is things would have gone a lot smoother between us at the very beginning if I happened to be a bloody werewolf.”

Alucard laughs and gives him a light hug. “A joke… and a bad one at that. Haven’t heard one of those from you in a while,” he hums. “Does this mean you’re feeling a little better?”

“I’ll feel better when all this is done and I can actually sleep.”

Without putting up much resistance, the dhampir guides Trevor’s heavy head onto one of the pillows. His tearful eyes shine like glass. “Then sleep.”

“I can’t, I’ll just see more of those… fucking awful things.”

Alucard ponders for a moment. Trevor will think of his next action as over sentimental. He might even poke fun at him, claim he’ll use it as blackmail, but he does it out of genuine affection for the idiot. Lying beside him, Alucard drapes the fur blanket over their bodies. “I’ll stay here until morning. I’ll help you sleep.”

Trevor lets out a defeated sigh. He places his head upon the dhampir’s chest, pleasantly surprised at how soft and warm it feels. The slow rhythmic breathing also helps put him at ease. Alucard’s fingers stroke his hair as lips ghost over the hunter’s forehead. “You’re not weak for being scared. We’re all scared. But we’ve made preparations and we’ll take all precautions. You’ll still be you, even after everything. The same foulmouthed, smelly… brave Belmont you always have been.”

He could go on, but Trevor’s eyes are already closed.

 

* * *

 

Near the manor, nestled under the hard winter earth, lies a cellar. Dark, chilled, and large enough to house over a dozen adult bodies. It was made for storage, but Trevor has found another use. One that will help save lives when the full moon rises this night. He can only hope.

Standing in the middle of the stone bound room, refusing a lantern or torch, he faces Sypha and Alucard. They seem apprehensive, uneasy, every quiet negative emotion. Even Alucard walks with an uncertain foot as he hands Trevor a small bottle. If the library books and their contents aren’t going to help him, perhaps this will. He uncorks it and pours a bitter tasting liquid down his throat, emptying the container. He’s drunk far stronger things in the past, but nerves almost cause him to retch everything back up.

“We should stay with you,” Sypha suggests. Trevor shakes his head, still reeling from the tonic.

“No. Just make sure the door is locked and bolted shut.”

“How will we know if you’re alright?”

“Won’t know for certain until tomorrow morning.”

“We can’t wait all night!” She glances at Alucard who doesn’t say it out loud, but agrees nonetheless.

“Then you’ll know everything happened like it’s supposed to when the screaming stops and the growling starts. It’s not gonna be a pretty thing to hear, I’ll tell you that much.” No one is in the mood for Trevor’s joke – if one could call it that. Not even Alucard has the energy to scold him. “But you can’t come in no matter what. Nothing goes into that room and sure as hell nothing comes out. Understand?”

Sypha and Alucard reluctantly understand. They look towards the stairs leading to the outside world. It’s late evening and the moon will be rising soon. A quick yet tight embrace is the best – or at least the easiest – goodbye they can give Trevor before exiting the cellar. Alucard closes the door, bolting it with a heavy _clank._ He and Sypha sit at the bottom of the steps; they’ve always hated waiting. In their shared experience, it never seems to be for anything good.

They pass the time in silence. Night arrives slower than expected. Sypha holds her knees to her chest, a shivering ball of stress while Alucard keeps his back against the wood and iron door. Small flakes of snow drift down followed by the cold light of the full moon.

Before Sypha can ask if it’s started yet, they hear something coming from behind the door. Pained, restricted moans as though Trevor were holding them back. A series of “fucks” hissed through teeth grinding together. Longer it goes on until they turn into screams. Vocal chords strain and tear, becoming inhuman. Sypha’s hands cover her ears but she’s seconds too late. It’s in her head now. The banging, ripping, clawing, and crying have forced their way inside. Against her own wishes, Sypha’s mind pieces together a grotesque puzzle of what might be happening within the cellar.

Some of the wood on the door suddenly cracks, not enough to break it open but a few more and it just might. Alucard’s eyes go wide. He immediately uses his body in an effort to keep it shut. Although having faith in his immense strength, Sypha offers her help. They share the same prayer: let this end.

The violent banging stops and the piercing screams quiet down. All that’s left is the same silence as before – Sypha and Alucard feel no comfort. They bring their ears close to the door and hear it. A guttural snarl belonging to a very, very big animal.

“Alucard…” Sypha whispers. “Do you remember what one of those manuscripts we looked at said?”

“Which one?”

“The one about northern lycan myths. It said something about calling out the creature’s name…”

There’s a tense pause before he remembers the passage. “If one should love the beast dearly, speak its true name and its humanity shall be restored.” The same text also suggested tossing the lycan’s human clothes in their direction. Alucard doubted its validity even when they first found it. “I don’t think…”

“We should at least try it. Please.”

Alucard’s furrowed brow softens. Of course it’s a risk, but he loathes the alternative of waiting until morning while Trevor stays locked in a dangerous body he can’t control. And listening to Sypha’s gut instinct has never led any of them astray before. If it doesn’t work, there’s always the clothes option. Cautiously, Alucard unbolts the door.

Sypha walks in before him, a small flame emanating from her fingertips. The steps they take are short and careful until a low drawn out growl stops them. Light reflects off ice blue eyes shining in the surrounding blackness. Backed into the farthest corner is a beast with thick fur, its posture cowered yet threatening, ready to strike if tested. Clearly a wolf, yet unlike any wolf the two have seen. Everything is too large; its head, limbs, teeth. From where Sypha and Alucard stand, they instead see a mouth full of daggers.

“Trevor Belmont.” Reaching out his hand, the dhampir is the first to say his name. The creature snaps its jaws, its barks deafening.

“Trevor, it’s us. You remember, I know you do.” Sypha stays close to Alucard, keeping the flame lit while her other hand prepares a different spell should they need it. The lycan lowers its head and crawls towards them on all fours, the hairs of its belly scraping along the floor. “Trevor…” Alucard repeats, stunned at how close they’ve gotten. Scared that one mistake could ruin all their chances. It sniffs his hand and blinks. No longer does it growl. Alucard and Sypha are tired of waiting but they must do it one last time.

Their hopes are rewarded when Trevor softly bumps the top of his head into the dhampir’s palm.

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t come out. Not into the forest nor the house. Trevor holds full awareness of what his body has become, but the fear of losing command haunts him. He cannot risk going outside. He won’t wander amongst the dense forests only to come across a village and succumb to any violent urges that might be screaming for release. So, he stays in the cellar curled up in his corner of stone and hay, alone.

A soft whimper escapes as one of Trevor’s oversized paws covers his eyes. It was difficult convincing Sypha and Alucard to leave him alone without the use of words. All he could manage was a few persistent whines while he pushed them outside. They’ve been gone for a while.

Suddenly, out of the quiet, Trevor hears the door creak open. He raises his head, ears perking up and expects to see either a blue clad Speaker or a golden haired dhampir. Perhaps they’ve come to keep him company or bring him food. Yet in their place, Trevor is greeted by a wolf like himself. This one however is much smaller with yellow eyes and fur whiter than the snowy hills surrounding his home. He sits up, recognizing this creature.

Alucard enters the cellar, his nails tapping against the floor with every graceful step. The two take their time in familiarizing themselves with each other’s new forms. While the white wolf circles around him, the lycan remains hesitant. Until Alucard gives the side of his head a couple gentle licks and Trevor feels his muscles relax. _You’re still you. Even after everything._ Trevor doesn’t know if that’s what Alucard is truly thinking, but his actions seem clear enough.

They nuzzle their snouts together; maybe this is what was meant when he said vampires and lycans get along better than most humans believe. Trevor would be content to stay here all night, as long as Alucard stayed as well, but the white wolf has other plans. He trots over to the door and waits. Tentatively, the lycan trails behind him up the stairs. A passing breeze ruffles his fur. They stare at each other before Alucard bounds off through the trees. Trevor follows.

Running will do both of them some good.


	2. varulven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being bitten by the werewolf, Trevor, knowing he doesn’t have much of a choice, accepts his fate following a painful transformation during the full moon. He quickly gets used to his new body with the support of Sypha and Alucard, who uses his own wolf form to better connect with Trevor.

The forest overwhelms him; too many new sounds, new scents, and new sensations all happening at once. The newly born lycan can hear everything from the smallest mouse digging into the frozen dirt, readying itself for hibernation, to the subtle crack of an owl’s talons clawing into tree bark as it moves from branch to branch. It watches and waits, ever so patient, for that very same mouse.

This assault on his senses continues. All things previously closed off when he was human have suddenly been opened. Through his eyes, the world is closer, more intimate. No moment to breathe. His thoughts are bursting with excitement and uncertainty, confusion and fervour.

He lifts his head and sees a white wolf upon a nearby hill. Sitting on his hind legs, head raised high and tall, staring back at the lycan. The skies are dark, save for the full moon, but thank god it’s not snowing else they’d never find each other. He knows the wolf will stay there all night if he has to, but the lycan won’t keep him waiting for much longer. This is a comforting sight; one that compels him to move forward. To join his friend, now that the two of them share more similarities than ever before (unconventional as they are).

_Contrary to what most people believe, vampires and lycans get along very well._

Trevor doesn’t know if he will make peace with this form. It’s too soon to tell. But joining Alucard on a run through the snow-covered woods seems to be a decent start. White fur and dark grey fur move quickly against a sea of pin straight black trees. Their swift paws kick up snow as one tries running just an inch faster and further than the other—whether either of them realizes it or not.

When Trevor arrived home a month ago with claw marks gracing his shoulder, Alucard and Sypha did their best. All of them did their best. The two consulted books, legends, and remedies while their hunter prepared himself for the worst. Trevor will forever be grateful to them, despite their failure to stop the lycan’s curse. After the pain of transformation ended, he suddenly felt nothing. He could _see_ nothing, only blood red and an emptiness surrounding him. It was dark inside the wolf. A realization that his body was no longer his own. He had lost control over it.

The first thing Trevor heard was his name. Faint and very weak, not strong enough to pull him out of the darkness. Whatever force held dominion over his body, its immediate instinct was to bare its fangs and violently lash out.

 _“Trevor, it’s us. You remember, I know you do.”_ The second thing Trevor heard. Clear and recognizable, even in his state. Sypha’s firm, unwavering, yet calm voice, a voice he always hoped to hear again, was able to cut through the prison that trapped his human thoughts and sight. Another problem solved, another victory she could hang off her belt. Sypha needed one of those, yet she also knew it wasn’t time to celebrate yet. No premature smiles or breaths of relief.

Trevor vaguely remembers what happened next; low to the ground, he crawled towards the two human creatures in front of him. Uncertain of how much personal control he had regained. Nor was he sure of how easily it could slip away again. Then came another familiar voice, like a candle in a dark corridor leading him to someplace brighter. Trevor Belmont is always in want—or rather, in need of brighter things.

 _"Trevor…”_ Alucard was never one to reveal his true emotions especially in the way he spoke. Neutral, steady, and blunt. Most often rude if he were in a foul mood, yet he raised his voice sparingly. But if Alucard was attempting to hide a certain emotion in that single word, he failed. All Trevor could hear was a desperate plea for hope.

He put their fears to rest when the front of his head gently pressed into Alucard’s outstretched palm. Trevor didn’t move beyond that; too ashamed, too scared of this new form that dwarfed his friends. Alucard cautiously slid his hand up between the lycan’s eyes before scratching his ears. Something Trevor did to those old grey Belmont wolfhounds of his long gone home. A shockingly pleasant sensation, making him feel akin to one of said large, gentle beasts he misses so dearly. Large is obvious, but gentle? Trevor wants to try his best.

It was a good decision to leave the cellar with the now broken door. Trevor would have otherwise cowered in a corner come sunrise. Out here, deep in the snow and cold air, adrenaline rushes through his veins just as easily as blood. Mixed with his habitual tendency to compete against the dhampir, it’s enough to propel him forward, matching Alucard’s speed.

This forest is his. Theirs.

* * *

 

One should never underestimate Sypha Belnades. She’s sent demons back to hell in flames of her own creation. She stood against the vampires’ mad lord and burned him to ashes which flew off into the night sky, their final resting place unknown. She played reluctant peacemaker between two men, more like children despite their own abilities. A minimal accomplishment compared to others, but an accomplishment, nonetheless. All those moments when she held her bright fingertips close against their temples saying, “Grow up or I will light both of your skulls on fire”.  

Keeping track of two wolf-like creatures seems easy compared to everything else. Stay close, stay watchful, and never stray too far from the fresh set of paw prints in the snow. A real-life Ariadne with her precious red thread. Sypha adored listening to those stories from her childhood, begging to hear one more before bedtime. It didn’t matter if they were real or not, though she always believed they were.

Belief is a powerful force; just as if not more powerful than her spells. She still believes in many things that cross bearing men reject; things good and bad. Of magic, vampires, and the myths that give life to both. Sypha loves her myths—even the unsettling ones. The ones that unearth truths that no one wants to hear. She once hoped some of them would help spare Trevor from his eventual fate.

She sat on the floor of their library, surrounded by piles of books like stone walls. A moment in time that feels long ago but in reality, happened only a few short days prior to the full moon. The words in front of her blurred together as she rubbed her aching eyes, yet she kept reading.

Sypha studied the lycan’s many origins: they came from a scorned lover of Gilgamesh, having been turned into a wolf against their will. No, they were punished by the god Jupiter for eating the remains of a sacrificed boy. Actually, they were merely by-products of the oldest vampires. On and on and on. She read of the symptoms: nightmares, vomiting, lack of an appetite. Increase in agitation. She wanted to scream, “I know that already” into the pages of those particular books. What she needed from these myths were cures.

While it made her hands twitch and her heart pound with anxiety, Sypha did what she promised Trevor: she kept reading. She kept searching.

So engrossed in her reading, Sypha barely noticed Alucard as he sat down beside her. A silence grew between them every time her fingers flipped over another page. He watched her eyes move from line to line, scaling down. A warm light filled the library; it would be dark soon and he wasn’t about to let her go through yet another sleepless night. Sypha’s sharp mind needed rest, but then again, they all did.

“You have that look again.” Despite how softly he spoke, Alucard noticed her jump. Sypha glanced at him briefly, then returned to her book, burying her nose in even deeper.

“What look?”

“The one that says focused yet angry. Calm, but disturb me and I will separate your head from your neck.”

She hid her amusement at Alucard’s dark brand of humour. “I am not angry.”

“Are you certain?”

“… perhaps a little. More frustrated. These books have nothing that can help us. There are apparently plenty of ways to tame a lycan after they transform.”

“But no methods of curing them.”

Sypha closed the book; Alucard took that as a yes. “What about you? I’ve seen you held up in that laboratory. Sometimes for hours on end.”

When they started rebuilding the Belmont manor with its library, bedrooms, armoury, and kitchen, they added a new room. A mirror image of the laboratory and clinic Alucard remembered so fondly. Full of medicines, glass tubes, and other devices neither Trevor nor Sypha fully understood but were willing to learn. He used it more often than them, carrying on important, irreplaceable work.

A local rumour began spreading amongst the neighbouring villages. Talk of a stranger dressed in black going from door to door, giving remedies to the sick while refusing payment. They never did manage to catch this good Samaritan.

Sypha once saw Alucard with his hair different. Still loose but tied with a simple hairband and hanging over his breast. When she mentioned it, innocently enough, Alucard went quiet. She hasn’t seen him like that since.

“Did… did your mother’s notes say anything?”

“Unfortunately, she didn’t have very many patients afflicted with the lycan’s curse.” Usually Sypha could recognize the sarcasm in Alucard’s tone; this time proved more difficult. “But I had more success reading the notes she and my father wrote together. I’ve started concocting a tonic using distilled wolfsbane.”

“And…”

Alucard didn’t want to give Sypha false hope. “It still needs work. With its current state, it will most likely kill him.”

“Maybe…” Sypha stopped herself. Never in her life did she want to admit defeat. Always too stubborn, too proud, tasting bile in her mouth if she even thought about it. Yet she told Trevor and Alucard to grow up. Perhaps it was time she did as well, especially if the life of someone she loved was at stake.

“Maybe it would be best if we let Trevor transform. We can use your tonic to ease the pain when he changes and then try taming him afterwards. These books annoy me beyond anything else, but I found a manuscript about northern lycan myths.” Shoving aside everything else, she grabbed a flimsy set of brown papers held together by thread and sheer perseverance. “It stood out the most. I think it may assist us.”

Alucard stared at the so-called “book” in Sypha’s hand. Its ink scrawls were barely legible to his eyes. “We would have to tie him down. Or lock him somewhere secure.”

“We have that cellar. I know you don’t like this plan.”

“I don’t think either of us does.” Sypha nodded in agreement. “I will tell him.”

“You do not have to.”

“No, it’s fine. I want to help him.”

“He won’t like what you have to say. He’s barely gotten any rest.”

“No one living in this house has.” He placed his hand on her back. “Don’t worry, Sypha. I will talk to him.”

“Gently. Remember to be gentle with him.”

“I shall.”

“Before you do that, we need to finish that tonic. I will help.”

“That won’t be necessary. You should—”

Sypha pushed the manuscript against his chest. “I said I’m helping. And you should read this.”

Alucard smiled. “There’s not much I can say that would convince you otherwise, is there?”

“Nothing at all.”

Deep in her memories, Sypha nearly trips over herself. Alucard was right, she hated that plan. It worked, but she hated it for making her think the worst. For making her feel as though she had willingly doomed Trevor to his fate. That she had been defeated.

Her feet begin to ache. She keeps reminding herself of one thing: this is not defeat. Only another obstacle to overcome. A door opening to a new way of life. Sypha is used to walking through those. She scales up another hill, her two boys off in the distance, still in sight.

She should have worn better shoes.

* * *

 

Wolves cannot run forever. Even those of supernatural origins must stop, which is what Trevor and Alucard do. But one still has mountains of energy to burn. His head is a flurry of different thoughts. Some take root while most leave just as fast as they entered. No matter where they came from or what they entail, they all succeed in contradicting each another.

One thought manages to rise above the rest: what else can this new body _really_ do?

Alucard takes his rest not far from Trevor, who seems to be in his own little world. Not content enough to run around in circles, he takes to rolling about in the snow, attacking it the same way a pup would pounce at everything in its sight, animate or not. A pup… yes, that’s what Alucard is reminded of. He watches in amusement as Trevor trips over his legs, too long and cumbersome for his liking. No normal wolf would be able to handle such abnormal bodily proportions of a lycan’s.

It takes some trial and error—more error than trial. Only when Trevor actually stops to think does he regain some control over his limbs. No more flopping around; now he can revert straight back to his playful demeanour, this time on much steadier footing.

 _—Quite the beacon of terror_ , the dhampir thinks. _Villagers must be quaking with fear underneath their bedcovers tonight._

Alucard lowers himself against the ground. Let Trevor have his fun. Lord knows he deserves it after a month of hell. This might even count as a valuable lesson. There’ll be plenty more to come.

Trevor rolls off his back and makes brief contact with golden eyes against white fur. Gold like amber or the cinders of a well-used fireplace. He looks at Alucard and wonders if the dhampir’s transformation is ever as painful as his own. _No_ , Trevor realizes the longer he stares. Not painful or ugly at all. A few gentle, graceful wisps of smoke and the deed is done. Seems everything Alucard does is gentle and graceful, no matter what form he takes.

A mischievous thought worms its way into Trevor’s head. Alucard maintains his statuesque posture; beautiful, regal, and boring. At first, he ignores the other wolf, occasionally glancing in his direction out of curiosity and confusion. Packs of snow get thrown into the air with every wag of Trevor’s shaggy tail. Alucard’s head tilts slightly, his ears pinned back.

 _—What are you planning?_ _Why are you staring at me like that?_

What can barely be described as a tense standoff ends when Trevor shoves Alucard. Despite being larger and arguably stronger as a lycan, this action does nothing to faze his companion. Trevor repeats the gesture; still not enough to crack his hard exterior—but not enough to deter his scheming counterpart. Trevor charges headfirst into Alucard, more a ram than a wolf.

Alucard, if he so wanted it, could overpower the lycan. Push him off or knock him flat on his own back. Yet he stays in a somewhat defeated pose with his limbs bent and dangling. Trevor continues his attempt at what Alucard can only assume is… bonding? He nuzzles his snout into the white wolf’s fur while his oversized front paws push against his exposed belly. Another jovial act between his family’s cherished wolfhounds.

Trevor also recalls riding on their backs as they took him up and down the halls of the Belmont manor then outside through the gardens when he was still small enough. Sypha might be able to ride on his back, maybe even Alucard as well. Wouldn’t that be a sight to behold.

Trevor becomes lost in this new, break-neck pace of thinking, one thought after another and then another. He doesn’t notice that the playful bites he’s been giving his friend have unknowingly turned aggressive. Alucard retaliates by baring his fangs and letting out a deep, guttural snarl.

_—Not so rough._

Trevor instinctively backs away. As an apology, he lowers his head and tries making his body seem much smaller than it really is. The same action he attempted in the cellar following his change. Lycans simply take up far too much space. Too large, too obstructive, and too rough, even towards similar creatures. He huffs out a frustrated breath into the frigid air.

Alucard ceases his growling when he sees this abrupt shift. He didn’t mean for his reaction to be so harsh. He’s supposed to be helping after all. Days before the full moon when Trevor quietly wept out of fear—fear of himself _—_ Alucard showed his own vulnerable side. He let Trevor rest his head upon his chest, wiping away the tears and offering small words of comfort until he drifted off into a desperately needed sleep. How could either of them forget that evening?

His father taught him that even those most experienced in transfiguration often have difficulty controlling their emotions. Too dulled down or too impassioned, exploding at any spontaneous moment. It would explain Trevor’s excitable behavior.

Softly, he treads over to the curled-up mass of thick fur. Trevor pouts as though he were still human. He really is just a newborn lycan on his first night out; an overgrown pup. His playfulness should be seen as a blessing in disguise. Alucard gives his snout a couple gentle pats, apologizing himself. To which Trevor merely grumbles.

_—Stick in the ass you are._

Alucard has no way of telling if that’s what he’s really thinking, but he can come to his own conclusions. He knows the Belmont well enough. He responds with a frisky bite to his ear, eliciting a surprised yelp from Trevor. Rows upon rows of fangs snap at Alucard, who always manages to dodge them at the very last second, before getting pinned down.

They continue like this, chasing and wrestling each other, causing their own little intimate chaos. Even their growls sound happier. It took some time, but they’re finally playing the same game. All is well again—or as well as things could be.

It comes to an end when a sound off in the distance catches Trevor’s attention. He raises his head; ears perked up, and listens. It’s not Sypha, no doubt making her way across the rolling landscape, closing in on her two boys. It’s no human at all. Something else, perhaps an animal or more, scurries through the frozen underbrush. A certain primal urge suddenly rises within Trevor, one that all beasts share: the need to chase and hunt. He stands up, nose pointed in the direction of the noise, ignoring the white wolf’s yips. Before he can run off, Alucard bites down and pulls him back.

_—For once in your life, wait._

Trevor does pause, but not without growling at him for leaving teeth marks on his tail. He begrudgingly lets Alucard take the lead. They begin their hunt.

* * *

 

Somewhere, a clock hand strikes past midnight. Trevor and Alucard huddle together, their eyes fixated on a small flock of wild pheasants. Not quite the prize they were hoping for, but decent practice. Like before, Trevor allows the white wolf to go first, all white trying to tell himself that as a human, he’s still the better hunter.

However, he must admit, it is mesmerizing to watch Alucard hunt as a wolf as it is watching him fight as a dhampir. Every step is deliberate and creates no sound as eyes never leave their prey, inching closer. A calculated, flawless leap forward, the panicked scattering of pheasants except for one thrashing around for freedom under his paw, and then finally, the wolf twists the bird’s neck in his jaws. He makes it all seem so easy.

Alucard carries his lifeless, slumped prize over to Trevor. So quick and barely even a drop of blood. He finds the rest of the flock a few feet away. They continue pecking at whatever berries and frozen grub they can scrounge for, unaware or having already forgotten that one of their own is dead. Trevor enjoys a challenge in all aspects of his life, but for now he’ll take a dumb prey over a clever one. He starts by mimicking Alucard’s movements and everything seems to be going well. Cumbersome due to his size but after some adjustments to his stance, the dhampir feels optimistic.

Then Trevor loses his chance to strike by half a second. The pheasants begin to disperse, and he rushes into them, striking one with his claws. It tries escaping; Trevor tries catching it. There’s a struggle as both hunter and prey put up their own fight. Jaws clamp down on the bird’s neck, but instead of a clean snap, splatters of blood and feathers cover the white ground. Trevor stares down at his prize, mangled and torn beyond recognition.

_—Too rough. Again._

Alucard expected something like this would happen and, in the end, Trevor was successful in finishing his first hunt. So, he isn’t disappointed. Yet Trevor dully paws at what used to be a pheasant with dejection in his eyes. Alucard tries cheering him up by licking his bloody snout clean. It helps.

They come across a drove of jackrabbits with their guard down, a rare but lucky sight. The second hunt goes much smoother. Alucard catches two, Trevor four, all of which hang out of his mouth intact. If Sypha were here right now, she would have a good laugh at the sheer ridiculous sight of such a beast with his jaws stuffed to the brim with rabbits.

Speak of the devil. Out of the corner of Alucard’s eye, he sees Sypha in the near distance, two pheasants hanging off her hip. He motions for Trevor to follow him.

Trevor doesn’t acknowledge him, nor does he notice Sypha. If a new sound or smell no matter how faraway demands his interest, then he must comply. All else, even close friends fade away. He can’t help it in this form. He meanders over the hills, leaving Alucard and Sypha to do little but trail behind him. Something tells them that this is not just simple curiosity pulling the lycan.

Silently, Trevor leads them to a clearing in the trees. Out of the darkness, shapes and silhouettes come into view. Not particularly large, but substantial. Some far apart, some close together. Houses, few of which still have candles inside, burning the night away. The softened lights illuminate each frosted window like small drifting halos. It’s deathly still in this hamlet; they might have never discovered its existence had it not been for Trevor.

 _—Trevor._ Alucard joins his side, fearing the worst. His head is lowered as he violently bats at it with his paws, agitated by some unseen tick. Every breath comes out as a growling rasp while streams of saliva drip off his fangs. The look in his eyes, the one Alucard and Sypha know so well, is gone.

It's happening again. Even the idea of being so close to other humans is enough to reawaken the hunger. Not to hunt or feed, but to rip and mangle and leave nothing unscathed. Trevor loses his balance, stumbling from foot to foot, shaking his head. God knows he’s trying to gain back control, and it hurts him. Alucard barks in his ear, deafening him.

 _—Fight it._ Trevor, or what Alucard hopes is still Trevor, responds with a fierce snap of his jaws. They snarl, and bark, and brandish their claws. Sypha tears her eyes away, despite not wanting to. She can hear voices within the houses, villagers stirring from their rest at what they believe is the sound of two wolves tearing at each other’s throats. She pleads for them to stay inside. This doesn’t concern them.

_—Fight it. God damn it, I know you can. Fight it!_

Trevor doesn’t care for Alucard’s thoughts. With another swipe, he sends him skidding across the ground and into the base of a tree. The pain is sharp but quick. Alucard stands, thankful that he is no ordinary wolf. Before he can charge at Trevor, Sypha moves between them, her hands raised.

“Trevor, stop!” She’s not afraid, not anymore. Or rather, she doesn’t look afraid. Her expression is firm, brows furrowed. All concentration on this one spell. It needs to be performed without any uncertainty. There’s no fire or ice emitting from her fingertips, yet Trevor howls bloody murder.

Spells that can change the mind and its contents are dangerous. In the hands of a less experienced practitioner, too much can go wrong. If one doesn’t succumb to an early death, then madness. Which is why Sypha has always preferred to manipulate tangible elements. But she’s never been above taking risks. She focuses every bit of her energy into restoring Trevor’s conscience. Hopefully it will shift itself in the right direction and neither she nor Alucard will be forced to commit the unthinkable.

“Look at me… keep your eyes on me. It will be alright, I promise.” Sypha doesn’t make promises lightly. Trevor huffs, gritting his fangs, but his gaze never leaves her. He waves his head from side to side again, as if trying to shake off a terrible headache. The growls quiet until they disappear. Sypha breathes a relieved yet trembling sigh when Trevor’s eyes soften. She steps forward and wraps her arms around his head, so large her fingers barely touch. Her forehead rests against his.

“Shh, none of that. You did well. I told you it would be alright.” She strokes his fur, listening to every whimper.

As his senses return, so too does his memory. Trevor wriggles free from Sypha’s grasp and runs to Alucard, still whining. While shaken up, his body bears no serious injuries, only some out of place fur. That doesn’t stop Trevor from licking and nuzzling him like an overbearing mother wolf. Alucard appreciates the concern, but he can stop now. After a moment of calm respite between the three of them, he decides that this night should come to an end. Before Sypha can follow him, the tip of her hood gets caught in Trevor’s teeth.

“What is it?” He lets go and lowers his underside against the snow, gesturing to his back. He knows Sypha came here by foot, all on her own; he can’t just let her return the same way. “Oh… well, this is…” Does he really want her to…?

Trevor gives her a nudge before she can stutter out another syllable. Alright, then. When in Rome and all that. Grabbing handfuls of fur, Sypha climbs aboard. She fumbles a bit then finds a comfortable position. Moments like these make Sypha thankful for their isolated, self-contained life. How would she explain this to her grandfather or the other Speakers? Even so, she can’t help but bury herself deeper in Trevor’s warm fur.

They catch up to Alucard with his mouth full of dead jackrabbits. Using the light of the moon as their guide, a lycan, a dhampir in the shape of a wolf, and a Speaker magician retrace their steps back to their home. Back to their bed.

* * *

 

The next day arrives, bringing with it the sun as it crawls over the Wallachian mountainside. Sypha stirs awake and forces her sleep heavy eyes open. The hazy light of early morning shines through the snow-covered glass of the bedroom window panes. Curling into the fetal position, she holds her knees tight against her chest. Both hands massage her bare feet, alleviating some of their soreness after her midnight excursion.

Is it possible for a single night to feel stretched out to its limits? Lingering for longer than a few hours at the most? Sypha remembers the set of events that occurred last night, despite them feeling like a dream. All of them tumbling into place one after another without rest. The last memory is of her in bed, safe, warm, and guarded. A bit suffocated but sleeping better than she did for the entire month. She knows who to thank for that.

Sitting up (a feat much easier said than done), Sypha believes she’ll look down at two wolves who are fast asleep. Just as she did before closing her eyes in the darkness, their bodies cuddled around her. One has white fur and a sleek build; the second, a lycan with thick fur and a mass that might have broken the bed in half.

She sees the white wolf, but in place of the other is a large blanket spreading out. As though the lycan had been neatly skinned and stripped of all his fur. The most curious thing about it is the human-esque shape protruding from underneath. Sypha lifts up one of the corners and with wide, bright eyes, she smiles. None of the books mentioned anything about this.

Trevor lies on his side covered by the fur blanket (or what must have been his skin), naked and in the grips of a deep, comfortable sleep. His breathing is gentle and every so often, a soft snore escapes. Sypha thinks she’s staring at an entirely different man. The tired, dark circles under his eyes are gone and his skin looks softer, healthier. Those years of turmoil and loneliness since he was twelve, all faded away after one night.

Tenderly, she runs a few fingers through his tousled hair. He will be fine. The fear she had when his fangs sharpened, and his eyes grew vicious was only momentary. Sypha wants to be hopeful, her most cherished emotion right after belief. She wants to hope and believe that Trevor might find the strength within himself to live with this curse. She also wants to bend down and hold him for the rest of the morning, no fear that he will disappear the next day or even in the next hour. But Sypha won’t wake him just yet. She slips out of bed, hurrying across the cold floor, a blanket wrapped around her shivering body, until she reaches the manor kitchen.

The lasting effects of a night well slept soon dissipate as Sypha abruptly stops, staring with surprised eyes at Trevor and Alucard’s midnight spoils. Namely, a pile of dead pheasants and hares complete with bloody feathers strewn along the wooden table where they have their meals together. They were all so exhausted, she almost forgot about those.

Sypha walks past the pile and begins preparing her breakfast.

* * *

 

Alucard is next to wake up. He opens his mouth in a wide yawn, licking dry lips, before giving his back a good stretch. After a few smooth wisps of mist rising into the air, he returns to his normal form. Fully clothed, wearing everything from his high boots, tight black pants, and the white shirt with the plunging neckline. He remains splayed across the bedsheets, straightening out the rest of his limbs. Letting out a tired yet satisfied moan, Alucard props himself up on his elbow and turns to Trevor. His reaction is just as pleasantly shocked as Sypha’s. Reaching over, he nudges him awake.

“Good morning,” he coos. Once Trevor’s eyes open and he gains an awareness of where he is, his cheeks go slightly pink.

“I didn’t expect this.”

“Did you feel anything transfiguring back?”

“No, nothing at all. If only the first transformation went this way.”

“So, you remember everything we did. Hunting, running…”

“I do… more than I remember most things when I’m human. I don’t think I’ll ever forget what it felt like to run that fast. Then there was… when I almost—”

“Nothing happened. It wasn’t your fault, and no one was hurt. Remember that as well.” Aside from a brief lapse in contentment, Alucard is relieved at how well Trevor is taking everything. He stares at him for a bit longer. His blue eyes, normally so tired and worn, look so much brighter in the winter sunlight. “How do you feel?”

“Good. Actually, I feel better than just good. I felt so heavy before. Everywhere I went, even when I met you and Sypha, I was constantly carrying around all this extra weight. You could never see it, but it was there, beating down on my shoulders while I rotted from the inside out. I don’t know, it sounds like I’m being too dramatic. But now… I feel lighter. Newer, I guess. It’s as though I’ve just taken the longest fucking bath of my life.”

“Interesting way to describe it.”

“But, be honest with me.”

“Aren’t I always?”

“… how hideous did I look? When I was… you know, in that form?”

Alucard doesn’t answer right away, preferring to keep Trevor in mild suspense. “It was not that terrible of a sight. You might actually look better as a lycan than a human.”

Trevor feebly tosses a pillow at his face. “Shut up.” Then comes an exasperated groan as he shoves his face into what used to be his “skin”. “Christ, that was a long night.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to go through it again?”

A valid question, and an important one. Trevor thinks about it at length. He can’t decide whether he wants his answer to be optimistic or his usual of reluctant acceptance. “I guess we’ll have to see in about a month’s time. Not like I have much of a choice.”

Alucard reaches over and grazes a couple fingertips along his stubbled chin. “You should know that I’m proud of you. We both are.”

“… don’t think I’ve heard that word come out of your mouth before.”

“Which one?”

“Proud. Of me in particular.”

“I’ve been proud of you many times in the past. I simply never vocalized it.”

“Well, my life’s purpose has been fulfilled. Guess I can die a happy man now.”

Grabbing the very same pillow, Alucard brings it down upon Trevor’s head again and again. “That was a horrible joke.” But the hunter, turned lycan, then turned back into a man only laughs.

Real laughter; it’s been too long since Alucard heard that sound.

 


End file.
